Short-Straw Bride (2 page)

Travis stood and scoured the ground for splint-worthy sticks while silently vowing that, before he went home, he'd spring every stinking trap on his property. No way was he going to run the risk of something like this happening again. He'd thought that any troublemakers who found themselves snagged would be able to free themselves with a minimum of fuss and leave with a sore leg to remind them not to return. The traps were too small to do significant damage to a man's leg, especially through the thick boots most of them wore. But a child? A
girl
? Travis never even considered such a scenario.

By the time he made his way back to the tree, the girl had composed herself. “What's your name?” he asked, thinking to distract her as he fit the splint to her leg.

“Meredith.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it firmly around the sticks just below her knee. “I'm Travis.”

“
You're
Travis?” She said it with such disbelief that he stopped what he was doing to stare at her. She blushed and stammered. “I just . . . uh . . . thought you'd be meaner or bigger or . . . or something.”

Travis shook his head and chuckled softly. “That's exactly what I want people to think. Me and my brothers are safer that way.”

He looked around for something else to use to tie the bottom of the splint. Finding nothing, he took out his pocket knife and used the point to tear a hole in the seam at his left shoulder. Then he yanked until the sleeve pulled free and slid it down over his hand. He knelt back down and fastened it into place around her ankle.

“You know what you could do for me, Meredith?”

“What?”

He made sure the knot was tight, then smiled up at his patient. “When you get back and your friends start asking you questions, make me sound as big and mean as possible. The fact that I helped you get home can be our secret. Okay?”

Her eyes glowed with something besides pain, and she actually smiled. The weight dragging on his conscience lightened.

“Grab onto my neck again—I'm going to pick you up.” Travis shifted to her side and maneuvered an arm under her knees.

“Wait! I need my tin.”

He pulled back. “Your what?”

“My lunch tin. Hiram threw it into the trees. That's why I came onto your land in the first place. I can't go back without it.” She twisted and tried to reach behind her.

“Hold still,” Travis barked, not wanting her to hurt herself. “I'll fetch it.” He grabbed the beat-up pail and handed it to her. Meredith cradled it to her middle, and Travis decided that if he ever met this Hiram person, he'd find another pail and give the numskull a wallop or two upside the head.

Travis slid his arms around Meredith and lifted her from the ground. The little warrior never cried out, just tightened her grip on his neck as he pushed to his feet. He examined the ground for the smoothest path to the road, even when it meant going out of his way. It was crazy, really—this urge to protect her. He'd spent the two years since his father died building barriers to keep the outside world out. But when this slip of a girl looked at him with trust blazing in her bright blue eyes, all he could think about was protecting the one piece of the outside world that had found a way in.

When he made it to the border of his property, Travis halted and inhaled a deep breath as his gaze tilted up toward heaven.

Sorry, Pa. I gotta do it.

Then, with a prayer for his brothers' safety resounding in his mind, he leaned forward and stepped off Archer land.

Palestine, Texas—1882

I
don't think I can do it, Cass.” Meredith peered up at her cousin through the reflection in the vanity mirror.

Cassandra pulled the hairpin from her mouth and secured another section of Meredith's braided chignon. “Do what?”

“Marry a man who wants me only for the land I can bring him.”

“How do you know that's all he wants?” Cassandra leaned down until her face was level with Meredith's and winked at her in the mirror. “If you ask me, the man seems rather smitten, paying calls on you every Saturday night for the last month.”

Calls where he spent more time discussing the lumber industry with her uncle than conversing with her. Wouldn't a man who was smitten spend his time talking to the woman he hoped to marry rather than her guardian?

Meredith sighed and turned to face her younger cousin. “I know I should be thrilled. Uncle Everett has told me again and again that Roy Mitchell is an excellent catch, and your mama nearly swooned when she found out he'd proposed. But something doesn't feel right.”

“Maybe that's because saying yes would mean letting go of a girlhood dream.”

Meredith squirmed under her cousin's knowing look. Cassandra was the only person Meredith had ever told about her infatuation with Travis Archer. An infatuation based on a single encounter. It was silly, really. What girl would dream about a young man whose hunting trap had nearly taken off her leg? Yet something about Travis Archer had left a permanent impression upon her heart.

Cassandra understood that.

During holidays and family visits, the two cousins used to huddle together beneath the covers of Cassandra's bed and spin romantic tales of the heroes who would valiantly rescue them from rockslides and stampeding cattle and even a polar bear or two when they were feeling particularly inventive. Meredith's hero always wore Travis Archer's face. Even now, she couldn't stop herself from imagining what he must look like twelve years later. He'd been handsome as a youth. What would he look like as a man?

Standing abruptly and moving to the open wardrobe where she could riffle through her dresses instead of looking at her cousin, Meredith mentally crammed Travis back into the past, where he belonged.

“Goodness, Cass. I'm far too sensible to hold on to a bunch of silly daydreams. I put those thoughts from my mind years ago.”

Cassandra reached around her and took down the rose-colored dress Meredith only wore for special occasions. “You might have put Travis from your mind, but I think he still claims a piece of your heart.”

Meredith reluctantly accepted the polonaise and matching skirt and laid them on the bed. But instead of removing her wrapper to dress, she hugged her arms around her waist and flopped onto the mattress. “You're right.”

And where did that leave her? She hadn't seen the man once since that day. It was doubtful he even remembered her. If he did, the memory was probably a vague recollection of some scrawny kid who'd gotten caught trespassing. Not exactly a vision to inspire romantic feelings. Besides, none of the Archers ever stepped foot off their land. Waiting for Travis would be about as fruitful as waiting for a snowstorm in July.

“Give Mr. Mitchell a chance, Meri. Maybe he's the kind of man who doesn't know how to express his feelings.” Cassandra sat beside her on the bed and patted her knee. “It'll be just the two of you today at lunch. Papa won't be around to distract him with business talk. Get to know him. You might be surprised by what he can offer you.”

Meredith glanced sideways at her cousin, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You know . . . I'm supposed to be the wise one here, not you.”

“I may be three years younger,” Cassandra said with a wink, “but that doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about men.”

“I can't argue with that. You've probably collected more courting experience in the past two years than I've had in the last five.” Meredith smiled and nudged her cousin with her shoulder. “Look at the way Freddie Garrett follows you around.”

“Freddie Garrett's barely fifteen, you goose. He doesn't count.” Cassandra grabbed a pillow and swatted Meredith on the chin. Meredith, of course, had to retaliate. The two dodged and giggled until their sides ached so much they had to stop.

“I think you're going to have to fix my hair,” Meredith said as she blew a loose strand off her forehead. The ornery thing fell right back across the bridge of her nose, which set the two girls to laughing again.

Cassandra gained her feet first. “Come on,” she said between chuckles. “Let's get you dressed, and I'll see what I can do about your hair.”

Twenty minutes later, dressed in her best polonaise with her hair artfully rearranged, Meredith stood by the window looking out over the street. Her cousin had kissed her cheek and wished her well a few minutes ago and left her to gather her thoughts before her suitor arrived. The only problem was, her thoughts were so scattered, Meredith was sure she'd never pull them together in time.

Roy Mitchell had many admirable traits. He was ambitious and prosperous, and would certainly support a wife in fine style. His dark hair and eyes were handsome to look upon, and his manners were impeccable. Yet he stirred no strong feelings in her. And as far as she could tell, she stirred none in him.

What am I to do, Lord? Do I marry Roy and hope that affection comes, or do you have someone else in mind for me? Please make your will clear to me.

A brisk knock sounded on the door, but before Meredith could answer, her aunt swept into the room, her brows lifted in a scrutinizing arch. “I'm glad to see you had the good sense to dress for the occasion.”

Meredith bit her tongue. After living with the disapproving woman for several years, she'd learned to speak as little as possible during their private . . . discussions.

“Come here, child, and turn around so I can see you.”

Trying to ignore the
child
remark, Meredith did as instructed while her aunt clicked her tongue and sighed like a martyr who had been given a heavy cross to bear.

“Can you do nothing more to disguise that awful limp? We can't have Mr. Mitchell second-guessing his offer before the engagement is official. I've already done all I can to ensure you every advantage. Cassandra has strict instructions not to enter the parlor while he's here. Don't want the man drawing unfavorable comparisons, do we?”

Aunt Noreen narrowed her gaze, as if she could sense Meredith's inner doubt. “You'd best not do anything to sabotage this proposal,” she said, shaking her finger under Meredith's nose. “Everett and I have too much riding on this for you to dillydally around. The man expects an answer today. And that answer had better be yes.”

When Meredith had asked God for guidance, she'd never expected him to shove it down her throat with a dose of her aunt's less-than-flattering opinions. Was this really the answer she sought? Was God speaking through Aunt Noreen, or was Aunt Noreen just spouting her own agenda? Meredith didn't mind rebelling against her aunt, but rebelling against God was another matter entirely.

Needing to get away from the waving finger in order to think straight, Meredith stepped over to the wardrobe to collect her shawl, exaggerating her limp as she went. When Aunt Noreen moaned, Meredith smiled. She knew it was petty of her, but she refused to let the woman browbeat her without striking back at least a little.

In reality, the hitch in her gait was barely noticeable except on those days when she overexerted herself. Years ago, the doctor had explained that the bone damage she'd sustained from the steel trap had hindered the completion of normal growth in her right leg, eventually causing it to be slightly shorter than her left. With custom-made shoes that added half an inch of height to the right heel, she got along without much trouble. Unfortunately, Aunt Noreen tended to see mountains where the rest of the world saw only molehills, especially when it came to Meredith's shortcomings.

Wrapping her ivory shawl around her shoulders, Meredith stared at the silky fringe instead of her aunt as she cautiously ventured into the conversation. “Papa always encouraged me to choose a husband with utmost care since the bond would last for life. I aim to follow his advice. Roy Mitchell has many fine qualities, but I need more time to get to know him before I can make this decision with confidence.” She glanced up and found scowl lines furrowing Aunt Noreen's brow. “Today's luncheon will certainly help me achieve those ends,” Meredith hurried to add.

“More time?” The woman sounded as if the words were choking her.

Aunt Noreen eyed the open doorway and prowled three steps closer to Meredith. “Did I ask for more time when your father requested lodgings for you in my home so that you could attend the Palestine Female Institute five years ago?” she hissed. “No. And two years after that, when your father's dealings with those . . . those
Negros
finally resulted in the end I predicted, did not Everett and I give you a permanent home?”

Meredith swallowed hard, trying to fight the memories of the fever that had taken first her papa and then her mother. They hadn't allowed her to come home, too afraid she'd catch the sickness. She'd tried to go to them anyway, but when her father refused to unbar the door and gazed at her through the front window, palm pressed to the glass, sunken eyes silently pleading with her to leave, she'd had no choice. She returned to her aunt and uncle's house and wept in Cassie's arms.

“My food has fed you,” Aunt Noreen muttered, bringing Meredith back to the present. “Your uncle's income has provided a roof over your head. You've been given more than enough
time.
”

Noreen sniffed and crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable as her focus jumped to the doorway before returning to Meredith. “You might not be aware, but your uncle's business has experienced some setbacks in the last few years. We need the stability that a connection with Roy Mitchell would provide. He's promised to partner with Everett once his land deal goes through. All his lumber will be cut exclusively by the Hayes mill. But the deal hinges on your marriage. No marriage, no partnership.”

Because Roy Mitchell needed her land—the land her father had left in her uncle's care, intending that he restore it to Meredith when she married or turned twenty-five.

“Would you jeopardize Cassandra's future simply because you're unsure of your feelings?”

Meredith blinked. If she refused Roy Mitchell's proposal,
would
she be hurting Cassandra?

Footsteps echoed in the hall outside the room for a moment before Cassandra's smiling face appeared in the doorway.

“Papa sent me to fetch you, Meri. Your suitor's here.”

Aunt Noreen gave her a pointed look and nudged her toward the door. “Go on, now. Let's not keep Mr. Mitchell waiting.”

As Meredith stepped into the hall, Cassie's eager smile, so full of innocence and romantic dreams, lit up her face. Guilt pricked at Meredith like a row of sewing pins protruding through her corset seam.

Cassandra deserved the best, and if marrying Roy would provide her cousin that opportunity, perhaps Meredith should make the sacrifice.

Yet when she entered the parlor and Roy walked toward her, she couldn't quite stem the quivers of panic that convulsed in her stomach.

Lord, I asked for guidance, and so far everything seems to point me toward marrying Roy. But if you have another plan,
any
other plan, I'd gladly consider it.

Roy extended his arm to her, and Meredith fought for a polite smile as she slid her hand into its expected place.